If we remembered to bring food, maybe it was some wine in a bola, or some cheese in my pocket. We’d listen to the radio, read by the woodstove, stay up as late as we chose, wake when it suited us. We were on our own time, our bodies were our own, our minds free to wander wherever they were inclined. “We had a good day,” Bob tried to reassure me as we wound along the dark and snowy roads. And maybe that Saturday was the only day Bob and I will get alone together this year.